


Of Gossip and Griffons

by allshallfade



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alistair is the OG emotional support himbo, Co-workers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gossip, Grief/Mourning, Late Night Conversations, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Past Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Sad and Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allshallfade/pseuds/allshallfade
Summary: "There would be no hiding behind jokes here, it would seem - not on this balcony.Thisbalcony lured you in with the promise of gossip, loosened you up with tasty wine, and then made you talk aboutfeelings."-----After noticing covert, pining glances between the Inquisitor and her Commander, King Alistair goes hunting for gossip. The night turns into more than he bargained for when Alistair and the Lady Lavellan decide to share a pitcher of wine on one of Skyhold's scenic balconies.A silly, serious, and sometimes sad short story with lots of friendship, fluff, and surprise angst sprinkled throughout! Conversation and characterization heavy.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Of Gossip and Griffons

It had been a long day, full of logistics and debates and _so much tedium_ it made his head spin, and the King of Ferelden was ready for something fun.

Under the pretense of finishing up an important correspondence, Alistair Theirin hung back as the war room cleared. He watched the Inquisitor from beneath a lowered brow, contemplating his strategy.

Though Elloway Lavellan was built broader and taller than most elves, she still stood at least a head shorter than anyone surrounding her - but it certainly didn’t feel that way. The Herald of Andraste was a _presence_ in the most literal sense of the word, and Alistair was quite sure it was a rare person indeed who wouldn’t bend the knee to her piercing green eyes and velvet smooth voice (complete with a high elven lilt that could charm the socks - and probably much more - off of just about anyone).

But he himself was not the one bewitched by the woman's high cheekbones, razor sharp jawline, and curiously delicate chin. No, this was about the man they now called the Lion of the Inquisition: the illustrious Commander Cullen Rutherford.

Shortly after arriving at Skyhold fortress, Alistair was invited to tour the training grounds with the tall, heavily armored Commander. He’d eagerly accepted the summons, appreciating any time spent outside in the fresh mountain air; the clear and brisk morning was a welcome joy after the days upon days of rain preceding it.

As they’d made their way across the grounds, the King watched the seasoned soldier closely.

Cullen navigated Skyhold’s bustling operations like a prowling jungle cat with something to prove. Over the course of their short time together, the Commander efficiently organized officers for morning drills, barking blunt feedback at sparring recruits; he defused a tense interaction at the front gates between two mages and a Templar officer; he methodically resolved a breakdown in communications regarding refugee supply chains; and all the while he replied to waves upon waves of courier-delivered reports, frequently curt but never cruel.

The Commander was clearly not the same man they’d rescued all those years ago at Kinloch Hold ( _and thank the Maker for that_ ) - he was confident, competent, and clearly passionate about the cause they fought for. In spite of Cullen’s rather grim, restless nature, Alistair found himself quite liking the fellow ex-Templar.

Later that day, amidst the ceaseless blathering on about politics and troop movements and supply shipments, Alistair discovered something even more compelling about the man.

It all started when they were several hours deep into the war council. Conversation had grown circular and Alistair was ready to check out completely, eyes glazing over as dreams of dinner started to take hold - but then he'd seen it.

After comprehensively answering a prompt from the Inquisitor, Cullen’s intense eyes remained fixed on the elven woman for far longer than was necessary... and in a most _unprofessional_ way.

Within those amber depths Alistair recognized a tenderness he knew only too well: one he was quite familiar with, admittedly a little bit envious of, and absolutely sympathetic for.

So Alistair did the only thing one could do when faced with such a revelation - he became obsessed with finding out more.

First, the King spent the last half hour of the meeting tallying up every time Cullen’s eyes lingered longingly on his Lady Liege. He’d drawn seven tick marks on the corner of his agenda before finally just sketching an infinity sign, gleefully filling in each wing with delicate little hearts. Arl Teagon had been seated next to him, and sighed pointedly while he doodled.

Alistair was unperturbed. He knew his own presence in that room was more formality than function - Ferelden’s contributions to the cause had already been arranged in the previous weeks and days, and he had no role to play in the current proceedings. The King had done his part, and now could have his fun.

So he'd pointedly ignored Teagan’s snooping and resumed his observations, turning next to the Lady Inquisitor.

This was where it got even more interesting: for however frequently Cullen would stare, it was as though the elven woman avoided even so much as glancing at her Commander in equal measure.

_Almost as if she knew what her gaze would betray if she did…_

That tantalizing thought led Alistair to where he now sat, lingering in the war room, hoping for an opportunity to catch the Lady Lavellan alone so he might shamelessly pry into his friend’s personal life.

Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before Elloway dismissed the final flock of advisers, their receding footsteps echoing softly in the empty hall. A distant door creaked shut, and at last they were the only two people left in the room.

Elloway was facing away from him, and she stood still for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

He continued fastidiously scribbling nonsense with his gaudy feathered quill, recognizing her stolen moment of peace and almost reconsidering his plan.

 _A_ _lmost_.

The elf took several deep breaths before finally turning to face the King, a morose smile tugging at the corners of her thin lips.

“It never ends, does it?”

Alistair lowered his quill.

“You’ve got to stop being so competent,” he replied, grinning. “People won’t ask for stuff if you just confuse them all the time - trust me.”

She let out a bark of laughter then, so coarse and raw and free that Alistair felt an unwelcome twinge deep in his gut.

_He had known - and loved - a woman who laughed like that, once._

“You’ll have to teach me that trick sometime,” Elloway said, her eyes dancing.

Alistair rose from his chair to take an over-embellished bow.

“It would be an honor and a privilege, my lady."

“Ah, always the gentleman! I’ll make sure Josephine adds it to the schedule - maybe over afternoon tea?”

“If she serves those tasty little Orlesian cakes with the sugar bows, you won’t be able to keep me away!”

They smiled at one another, but then fell silent, both unsure how to continue yet not quite wanting the moment to end. As the silence extended Alistair began to feel quite awkward, again reconsidering his plan.

He was very grateful when Elloway suddenly gestured towards the doors at the north side of the room.

“Would you care to get some air? As much as I appreciate the smell of candle wax and ink, I find myself craving something different,” she said lightly, tucking some loose strands of auburn hair behind her pointed ears.

“Maker’s Breath, would I!” 

And so the King of Ferelden and the Herald of Andraste made their way out of the hall and onto the balcony at the north end of the war room.

It was not a very large landing: there were two wooden chairs tucked into the right corner, and a small table laden with a pitcher and four goblets to the left. Alistair and Elloway ignored the chairs and instead took a place on either side of the table, resting their elbows on the balcony’s thick stone railing.

They fell into a companionable silence for a few breaths, admiring the way the late afternoon sun cast an almost candle-like glow on the snow-coated peaks to the east. The air was crisp and biting, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet scent of wet leaves and snow it left on his tongue.

Alistair felt a stab of resentment for the comparatively stuffy Royal Palace back in Denerim; he really needed to get outside the city more.

“Can I interest you in a glass of wine? It’s quite good.”

Elloway motioned towards the pitcher, and he leaned back from the railing to nod eagerly - that sounded _fantastic._

She poured them each a generous serving of the scarlet liquid, her hands delicate as she handed him an ornate goblet.

“To what shall we drink?” she asked, eyes mischievous.

“Oh! Hmm, to… saving the world?”

A shadow crossed her face then, just for an instant, and he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. He tended to do that sometimes.

But it was gone before he could react, and she took a deep breath and raised her goblet towards him with a smile.

“To saving the world!” she repeated.

They clinked glasses and both drank deeply. The wine was very good indeed - rich and tangy, with notes of cherry, and a chocolaty, velvet smooth finish - and Alistair savored the flood of warmth it brought to his chilled core.

He was wondering if he should offer the Inquisitor his cloak, for she only wore a thin leather jacket against the growing evening chill, when she lowered her goblet and turned to face him, eyes somber as she asked:

“Does it ever get any easier?”

Alistair couldn't help but raise his eyebrows, at first bewildered by the question.

Does _what_ get any easier, he wanted to say - but then bit his tongue as he considered their context.

_Rallying a disparate people behind a common cause; building a fractured army in the midst of a rebellion; fighting ancient evils in every corner of Thedas; making decisions with the fate of everyone and everything you held dear on your shoulders…_

Yeah, he supposed he knew what _it_ was.

They had spent the last year working together, King and Inquisitor, to protect the citizens of Thedas, and Alistair liked to think they’d come to share a playful, casual rapport during that time. This brazen display of vulnerability, however, was not something he’d come to expect from the elven woman.

And yet…

Elloway’s expression was tinged with something like melancholy, and even he knew that now was not the time to respond with one of the many evasive jests he’d inevitably conjured.

So Alistair decided - most uncharacteristically - to take a moment to think before speaking.

It was actually more like a few seconds, but it was still a pretty big deal for him.

“Well… yes and no, I think,” he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck and wishing he were better at this. “I think the burden can become easier to bear, though, over time. You just have to figure out who you can lean on to help carry it… and then you have to _let_ them help, which is sometimes the hardest part, I think.”

Elloway nodded slowly as his words settled in, her eyes fixed westward towards the steadily setting sun. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Out here, against Skyhold’s majestic backdrop, he was suddenly aware of just how small the elven woman actually was; it was funny how a change in perspective could do that.

She didn’t speak for another moment, and Alistair took another gulp of wine to contain his discomfort. This conversation was much more serious than he’d bargained for, and though he didn’t necessarily want it to end, he also didn’t quite know what to do with it. The Hero of Ferelden had always carried him in times like this, her quick wit and insight guiding him through the nuance of sentimentality with an affection he most certainly did not deserve. On his own it was much harder.

But despite how often his dead lover’s presence had been felt this evening, she was gone and he was here; here, on a balcony at Skyhold fortress at sunset, standing at the side of a woman whose actions would shape the future of the known world. And the Inquisitor was clearly searching for something, in need of something, and perhaps - Alistair was shocked to realize - even asking him to help lighten the load. 

“Your Inquisition has done incredible work, you know that, right?” he said, more statement than question.

She only closed her eyes in response, pressing leather-gloved fingers into her furrowed brow.

He persisted.

“Seriously, El, without you, there wouldn’t even be a world left to save. You’ve already done the impossible, and the people of the Inquisition are ready do whatever it takes to make sure you get a chance to do it again. They believe in you - just like I do. You’re like a great big shining beacon of hope in the midst of all of this darkness..." he paused, smirking at her, "well, maybe a green, glowy, mildly creepy beacon... but still, a beacon nonetheless!”

She snorted at that, but opened her eyes to shoot him a grateful look.

“Thank you for saying so, Alistair, really. It’s just… I don't know, I can't help but wonder - what if it had been someone else at the Conclave that day?"

She looked down at her palm, the green glow illuminating her tanned face.

“What if someone _human_ had been there, instead of me? Would they have been able to do more, or better? Would so many have perished at Haven, or Redcliffe, or…" Elloway shook her head, averting her eyes as she sighed. "I guess sometimes I think of all the ways I’ve failed, and...”

The thought was left to linger as she took a bracing sip of her wine, swallowing hard.

Alistair was about to proclaim he absolutely did _not_ think someone else would have done better - human, elf, or otherwise - when she spoke again.

“Did you want to be King, Alistair?”

He blinked.

_Again with the unexpected, deep cutting questions! She wasn’t pulling any punches tonight._

But his belly was warm with wine, and he found himself thinking - _why not? She’d been sharing - he could too._

“I absolutely did _not_ want to be King,” he declared, enjoying the chance to say it out loud.

She raised an eyebrow at his fervor, and he chuckled.

“Oh, I’m not joking - I never, ever wanted anything to do with the crown. Honestly, most of the time I _still_ don’t want it - crown hair is real _bitch_ , let me tell you - but all the other options were much, much worse. And… duty doesn’t care what you want, I guess, and I’ve always been a sucker for honorable causes, so here we are. I am _quite_ the gentleman, you know,” he flashed her a roguish grin, which she slowly returned.

“Well, if we’re playing the compliment game, you should know that I think you’re a very good King.”

Now it was his turn to snort. She swatted at his arm in response, from which he recoiled theatrically.

"Hey, hey, don't hit me - I bruise easily!"

She rolled her eyes.

“I'm serious, Alistair - you really do care about what’s best for your kingdom, and for _everyone_ in it. That’s certainly not something the Dalish taught me to expect from any human, much less from royalty. I think your people are lucky to have you.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so! Could you please tell my wife that?” he quipped, and she look surprised.

“Oh?”

Alistair wished he could take his foot out of his mouth just _once_ in his life.

“Now that I think about it, you’ve never really talked much about the Queen…” she prodded.

“A lady never kisses and tells?”

She crossed her arms, unamused, and he rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t one of his favorite topics, but Alistair frequently found himself sharing more than he’d planned to with Elloway - it appeared tonight would be no different.

"Alright, alright, _fine_... oh, where to begin?" He tapped his chin. "Well, let’s just say marrying Anora was _not_ my idea: we have, ah - how do I put this delicately - very _different_ personalities, and not in that charming way that makes for a rousing-yet-adoring relationship. For example, she loves to point out every little courtly mistake I make, like I'm doing it on purpose to annoy her, or something - I mean, sometimes I definitely am, it really is just too easy - but most of the time I’m not! Like, I really do think the third spoon from the left is the best one for eating soup, and I’ll stand by it!”

Elloway’s hawk-like face cracked into a wicked grin.

“That does sound rather… ‘Anor’-ing?”

Alistair just stared at her for a moment, stunned speechless, before he tossed his head back and laughed harder than he had in a long, long time.

“You know,” he finally said, still chuckling as he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “I’m honestly disappointed in myself… an entire decade of marital bliss and not _once_ did that absolutely horrendous pun occur to me! I must have gained some self-respect in my old age.”

“Lost some of your wit, more like,” she countered, snickering - but there was still a pity in her eyes that left Alistair squirming.

He promptly decided to move things along.

“Anyways, as I was saying - duty can be a real _bitch_.”

“Now that I’ll drink to,” she replied, raising her goblet in tribute.

They both drank deeply, and it was during the ensuing silence when Alistair finally remembered what had originally brought him here.

_And now for a seamless segue…_

“You know -" he said, shooting her a sideways look, "- in my experience we rarely get a choice when duty calls... just like we don’t get to decide when and whom we love.”

She went very still at his words, averting her gaze; as soon as he said it he realized how it sounded, and he felt the tips of his ears beginning to burn red.

“Oh, uhm, I only meant that I, ah… couldn’t help but notice the way a certain _Commander_ wasn't able to keep his eyes off you today,” he blurted out, hoping his playful eyebrow wiggle would somehow make things less weird.

Her reaction indicated otherwise.

The Inquisitor looked like he’d caught her stealing coin from a Chantry coffer: her body was even stiffer than before, green eyes round as cheese wheels above rapidly flushing cheeks.

“What - uhm - I, ah -” she sputtered.

Though he enjoyed the rare pleasure of striking her speechless, he also wasn’t falling for it.

“What, that couldn’t possibly be news to you, could it?” he cajoled, leaning in to nudge her shoulder. “I don’t believe for one second that a perceptive woman like yourself hasn’t noticed those honeyed eyes gazing adoringly at you from across the war table…”

Elloway was a highly expressive woman - a trait Alistair adored - so there was no masking the small, almost shy smile of acknowledgment that flashed across her sharp features.

But it was gone just as quickly as it came, and her face had become so red and mottled he was starting to worry she might need to sit down.

_Nice going, Alistair. Way to ruin a perfectly lovely evening by asking a super awkward question._

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, lifting a gloved hand to rub the back of his neck.

It was clearly a complicated subject, which only made it all the more tantalizing - but if Elloway didn’t want to talk about it, he would let it drop.

To his delight, however, the Inquisitor surprised him yet again.

“No, I’m alright, it’s just…” she exhaled heavily. “Well, honestly no one’s ever asked me about it so... _directly_ , before.”

Alistair wasn’t surprised to hear that - most people had more tact in one conversation than he possessed in an entire day. He started to say as much, but she spoke first, looking at him with a curious expression.

“You’re _really_ not what I expected the King of Ferelden to be like, you know that?”

“Hah. That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, believe me. I’m sure many doubt my methods, but hey, the castle’s still standing and the kingdom hasn’t descended into chaos - well, at least not yet - so what do they know, right?”

She opened her mouth to speak again, but Alistair interjected.

“But don’t think you’ve gotten off so easily, Lady Inquisitor! After such an _excruciatingly_ long day, I’ve a terrible hankering for some juicy gossip - and I swear on Andraste’s holy knickers your secret is safe with me!”

He put a hand to his chest as though in sacred oath, donning his most earnest expression. She gave him a supremely skeptical look, but he continued on.

“Honestly I don’t think anyone would believe me if I shared your secrets, anyways - I say a lot of things, nearly all of it nonsense, and most people have learned to just ignore me.”

“You’re the King of Ferelden!” she scoffed. “That can’t possibly be true!”

“Oh ho, it most certainly is true! Just ask any of my scribes - it takes them _weeks_ to train new recruits how to filter out my rambling. You wouldn’t believe some of the letters we’ve almost sent… or the ones we have,” he added, scratching his jaw thoughtfully. 

Having been a recipient of his correspondence before, he knew she would see the truth in these words - and she did.

He waited as she stewed this over, her expression sour.

“Ugh, _fine_!” She finally exclaimed, shooting him an accusatory scowl. “You’re worse than an old kitchen maid about gossip, you know that?”

"Do I ever!” Alistair nodded enthusiastically, just short of gleeful. 

Elloway made a show of rolling her eyes before she leaned over the railing of the balcony, balancing her now empty goblet on an open palm.

As she gathered her words, he wondered how long the glass would fall for if she dropped it.

Probably a _long_ time - they were really high up.

“Well, the truth is… there’s not much to tell, is there?” she started. “He - Cullen - is an outstanding Commander, a trusted adviser, and a… close friend, but nothing more.”

Alistair felt himself deflate a bit - this was decidedly less titillating than he’d hoped for - but he remained silent, sensing she wasn’t quite done.

Elloway twiddled with the goblet for a moment, slender fingers picking at the blue stones adorning its thick stem, before continuing.

“I can’t say I haven’t… wondered if there could be something more between us… he is _unreasonably_ handsome, after all,” she smiled coyly, and Alistair finally got his suggestive eyebrow wiggle in.

“Hah… so yes, I won’t deny that I sometimes _wish_ for more, but… it’s complicated. He’s human, I’m Dalish; he’s an ex-Templar, I’m a mage; he’s the Commander of the Inquisition and I’m… well, we’re both aware of the expectations riding on us, and our roles in all of _this_.”

She gestured vaguely out over the landscape, the glow of thousands of soldiers’ tents just visible on the horizon, and sighed.

“As a wise man once said: one doesn't choose when duty calls, so… here we are,” she finished delicately, giving him a crooked smile.

He snorted at her callback, but felt sympathy welling up in his chest - he was all too familiar with that line of reasoning, after all.

_Should he share as much?_

He opted to refill both their goblets while he considered his response.

She gave him a grateful look, raising her glass in his direction before taking a deep swig. He only sipped his own wine, swirling the liquid indulgently around his tongue before swallowing.

There was something so utterly hypnotizing about Elloway’s easy candor, one couldn’t help but be inspired to follow suit. _No wonder she's been able to make the impossible happen_ , he mused - but as she'd revealed earlier in the evening, her efforts took their toll, and Alistair believed Elloway more than deserved something happy in return.

“This may come as a shock, but I actually know a thing or two about this sort of situation,” he began.

The elf’s head tilted inquisitively to the right, her eyebrows raised.

“Oh?”

Alistair nodded grimly, steeling himself.

He didn’t often speak of her, at least not like this, and it still wasn’t easy for him. Maybe that meant he should do it more?

_Well, here goes._

“You may have heard of a certain Dalish elf who united Ferelden against an Arch Demon, and ended the Fifth Blight? Many refer to her as the Hero of Ferelden?”

Elloway had inhaled sharply before he finished speaking, rift-marked hand flying to cover her parted lips. The mark cast a sinister green spotlight on her face, and Alistair wondered if she had to hide her hand under a pillow or something to sleep at night.

“Oh!” she exclaimed feebly. “I… didn’t know.”

Elloway’s eyes were so painfully sympathetic - and strangely cat-like, illuminated as they were by the mark - that Alistair bit back a snide remark, so badly did he want to stop her from looking at him like that.

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly something the royal family wanted spread around,” he drawled instead, without bothering to keep the venom out of his voice. “The King of Ferelden fraternizing with an elf wouldn’t have gone over well at court - no offense, though I’m guessing the Dalish wouldn’t have liked it much either - and there were other things to worry about, so I guess it kind of just got swept under the rug of history.”

Alistair hated it as a he said it, biting back the bile of self-loathing that came with his words; he knew Elloway was watching him intently, and he looked away to take another swig of wine before continuing.

“The truth of it is… I, ah, loved her - Varya, that is, Varya Mahariel - it’s weird how many people don’t actually know her name - anyways I loved her more than I ever thought possible, and I uh, I broke her heart. I broke _our_ hearts.”

He swallowed hard, desperately hoping she didn’t notice his voice cracking.

“She was the first and only woman I’ve ever loved, and I ruined everything. I would have followed her to end of the world and back again, but when they made me king, well, the Arl was so sure I needed to give her up - 'for the good of kingdom', he said. And, like an idiot, I listened.”

Alistair didn’t - couldn’t - think of that day very often, but now he did.

He could still see Varya’s owl-like features crumbling while he attempted to rationalize the decision, her silver hair radiant in the late afternoon light; he was ending things, not because he wanted to, but because he _had_ to, he had said.

She’d challenged him at first, not understanding, not wanting to - but eventually she’d grown quiet, just sitting there _watching_ with those big, beautiful blue eyes as he tore down everything they’d fought so hard to build together.

Once their words - and tears - ran out she had kissed him one last, lingering time, and said the words that haunted him to this day:

“You’re going to be a good King, Alistair.”

He wasn’t sure she’d been right about that, even though she normally was - but _Maker was he was trying._

“You weren’t an idiot, Alistair.”

Elloway’s lilted voice penetrated his remembering, and he was grateful for it.

“You… just wanted to do the right thing for Ferelden - to be a gentleman. That doesn’t strike me as idiotic at all,” she said quietly, and he could hear the tentative smile in her tone.

He raised his eyes to meet hers, blinking through vision clouded by moisture.

_Great - now he was crying on the Inquisitor’s balcony. Ugh._

Alistair inhaled sharply through his nose, puffing his chest and squaring his shoulders in an effort to recover any remaining semblance of masculinity.

“Yes, well -” he sniffed again, “- whatever the reason, I wasn't by her side when the time came to fight the Arch Demon. Not then, and not during the days and nights leading up to it. I’ll always wonder if things could have gone differently, if we could have both somehow come out alive and maybe… repaired what I'd broken? But I’ll never know, and she died alone. I’ll regret turning away from her until the day I die.”

He had never said it aloud, but it was true.

There would be no hiding behind jokes here, it would seem - not on this balcony. _This_ balcony lured you in with the promise of gossip, loosened you up with tasty wine, and then made you talk about _feelings._

Elloway took a breath like she was about to speak, but he went first, racing to make his point before the impulse to retreat into humor prevailed.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, you never know when they’re not going to come back - when _you’re_ not going to come back - so you should take what joys life offers you and _enjoy_ them while you can."

He looked her squarely in the eye then, expression uncharacteristically serious.

"You will never, ever forgive yourself if you don't - _trust me._ "

She stared back at him, eyes uneasy, but he didn’t break her gaze until a small, sad smile graced her lips.

“I... understand. Thank you, Alistair.”

He gave her one final, discerning stare before nodding slowly in return - he believed her.

_Good. Now that that was out of the way..._

"Don't mention it," he waved a dismissive hand. “ _Anyways_ , you should be careful about letting me ramble on like that - I’ve grown used to getting away with it. One of the perks of being King, I suppose. Mwahaha!”

He raised his hands in a maniacal gesture for emphasis, knocking his crown spectacularly askew in the process. It settled over his right eye like an eye-patch, and Elloway broke into a sudden laughter. It didn’t take long for Alistair to join her.

It felt good, and when their chuckling subsided and they slipped back into an easy repartee, that felt good, too.

As they spoke of lighter things, Alistair couldn't help but revel in their fluid and spontaneous banter; it was a much-needed respite from the relentless banality of courtly ritual, and he longed for many more nights such as this. Yet he was painfully aware they may never get them; the King was scheduled to leave Skyhold the following day, after all, and there was no saying when - or _if_ \- they would ever see one another again.

His stomach clenched sharp and tight at the prospect, but he did his best to push such thoughts from his mind: there was no need to spoil the time they did have with worrying.

He was not alone in his sentimental musings, however; Alistair had just finished his second glass of wine, and was considering whether to prompt for a third, when Elloway grew suddenly sincere:

“I just wanted to say… thank you, Alistair. I spend so much time doing what people ask of me, and it's rare for someone to do something _for_ me - especially without expecting anything in return."

Her earnest intensity threw him for a moment, but he recovered quickly enough to give her a sideways smile. “Funny you should say that; I was just thinking something similar. And... believe me, I'm well acquainted with that sort of behavior - I know it's not easy, but remember you have people you can lean on when things get too heavy. I’m one of those people, and -" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "- I can think of at least one other ex-Templar who might just feel the same way…"

Elloway snorted into her wine cup, splashing red liquid down her shirt and all over the stone railing.

“Was it something I said?” he asked innocently, readying himself to dodge in the case of a counter-attack - but she only rolled her eyes and reached for the pitcher with a mysterious smile.

When their goblets were full she raised hers towards him in a silent invitation. He returned the gesture, their eyes locking over their cups.

Something profound passed between them, then, and neither trusted words to capture what they shared in that moment.

It was a rare and singular sensation, but there was only so long they could stare; soon the King and the Inquisitor had no choice but to look away, retreating shyly to their wine as they did so. After a moment Alistair turned westward, and found the sun had all but disappeared behind the looming peaks of the Frostbacks. Dark, sweeping shadows painted the valley black, and the scent of snow filled the gathering evening air.

It was a quiet thing, this descent into night, and as they lingered there the King became aware of a similar quiet forming deep within himself. He felt it as a profound sense of peacefulness - one he was not accustomed to, and certainly not used to sharing.

For a fleeting moment he felt the urge to put his experience to words, and a desire to confirm Elloway was feeling the same - but instead of speaking he simply paused, took a deep breath, and let it all out in a sigh.

He didn't need to ask because he _knew_ she felt it too, with an inexplicable certainty that was far too significant to sully with doubt.

So he said nothing, and they stood together in the stillness for awhile, contentedly sipping their wine as the spectacle of twilight unfolded before them.

The sky grew dark, and the temperature dropped; at one point Elloway began to shiver, and Alistair remembered his earlier thought.

“Here - take this,” he said, gloved fingers working to loosen the buckles holding his thick fur mantle in place.

She started to protest, but he raised a large hand to silence her.

“Ah ah ah! Gentleman, me, remember?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t resist as he whipped the cloak over her shoulders with an exaggerated flourish.

Alistair was much larger than the elven woman, and the heavy fabric draped around her like an over-sized curtain, leaving several inches trailing across the stone floor of the balcony. Elloway puffed her chest out importantly under his gaze, squaring her stance and planting fists at her hips in a statuesque pose.

The Inquisitor looked like an impudent child modeling her parents' clothes, and Alistair didn't bother to contain his amusement.

“How dare you mock me, ser!” she exclaimed, her bristling outrage only adding to the hilarity.

Maybe it really was that funny, or maybe they were just tired, or fragile - but before he knew it they were laughing so hard they could scarcely breathe, both gasping for air and cradling their aching bellies as they collapsed into the two chairs at the far end of the balcony.

The rest of the night passed by in a similar fashion, their stories growing more absurd - and more bawdy - as the wine pitcher emptied. It was a beautiful, blissful couple of hours, and they lingered on that balcony far longer than was responsible, both more than willing to ignore the inexorable passage of time.

But eventually the wine stopped flowing, and a persistent, biting breeze blew icy crystals over the dark and sleepy fortress; when one particularly vicious gust left their faces stinging with cold, the King and the Inquisitor exchanged a mournful look.

It was time.

With infinite reluctance Alistair pressed up out of his chair.

 _Oof_.

The world spun; he had had more to drink then he’d realized.

Elloway seemed to have come to a similar revelation, her expression queasy as she steadied herself against the stone railing. Alistair caught her eye and they shared a sheepish grin.

When he found his balance he lowered into an unsteady bow and gestured towards the door, nearly knocking over his wine glass with the motion.

“Ladies first!”

Elloway rolled her eyes but led the way, her mark casting an eerie glow across the landing as she navigated clumsily towards the war room. Alistair was about to follow when he paused at the open threshold, indulging the impulse to turn back for one last look.

The cosmos stretched out before him, glittering and infinite, and he filled his lungs until they burned with the glacial air.

Nights beneath an open sky always brought memories of Varya, and tonight he allowed them in.

He remembered the way her hair sparkled white under the moonlight, and how her hands were so small they could fit in his palm; he remembered the scent of her - like honeysuckle and elderberry and rain - and he remembered how she used to hum little made up songs when she was happy; he remembered the way her brow furrowed when she was frustrated, and how her smile could make anyone feel like the most wonderful thing in the world; he remembered the way her skin tingled with electricity when she cast spells, and he remembered how perfectly their bodies fit together when they embraced - almost as if the Maker himself had planned for it.

He remembered their first kiss, the first night they spent together, and every night after - and he remembered the tent they had shared, with that blasted hole in its canvas ceiling.

They complained about it every time they set up camp, but never once during their long year on the road together did they actually consider fixing it. He could now admit they’d both secretly cherished the way it let in a cool breeze to tickle their bare skin after an evening of love-making, and how when the sky was clear they’d lay on their backs and peer through the gap, pointing out the shapes they found in the stars.

She’d always seen griffons, and he’d liked to give them names that made her laugh.

Alistair swallowed hard.

_Oh Maker, thank you - thank you for the time we did have._

Through blurred eyes he watched the stars, and for just an instant he could have sworn they took the shape of an eagle-winged lion.

“C’mon, Alistair - I need to shut this door!”

The King exhaled, somewhere between a choke and a laugh.

“Your desire is my command, my lady," he whispered up into the night.

And then followed his friend inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This short story represents my return to fan fiction after a regrettably long absence, and it's such a pleasure to be back! I hope you enjoyed, and kudos or comments always brighten even the darkest of days <3


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